


and wherefore was it glorious?

by athenasdragon



Series: Terror Vignettes [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Gen, and james fitzjames reads novels, the author is an english major
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-20 22:44:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21064424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenasdragon/pseuds/athenasdragon
Summary: An uneasy night aboard the ships as the sun goes down for the final time that winter."Oh! be men, or be more than men. Be steady to your purposes, and firm as a rock. This ice is not made of such stuff as your hearts might be; it is mutable, cannot withstand you, if you say that it shall not."- Frankenstein, Mary Shelley





	and wherefore was it glorious?

It would have been better if there was only silence.

The creaking of the rigging under a strong wind, the rumbling of the bilge pump, snatches of song to keep time during the day and to keep spirits light at night—these were absent, of course. Every strike of the bell shattered the cold-thinned air like ice. Half-laughs trailed to nothing, conversations muttered only over meals and behind closed doors.

Silence was discomfiting enough on ships this full, but it was worse than silence. The same ice which held them fast taunted them with snaps and groans, at times teasing a retreat and at others threatening to crush the ships under its immense pressure. Over this syncopated percussion, the wind howled and moaned like a wounded animal snared in the rigging. It was enough to make anyone’s hair stand on end.

Presumably the final dusk of the year was proceeding as scheduled, but no one aboard the _Erebus_ or _Terror_ could have confirmed it. Even if anyone had been willing to brave the deck, the storm belligerently settled over them had kept them in a state of effective night for nearly a week. The low clouds and driving snow made it impossible to distinguish shapes on deck, much less beyond their lantern light.

Even within the ship, darkness and cold hung like cobwebs in the corners of rooms. Fitzjames nudged his book closer to the lantern and leaned down. He was trying to finish a novel he had begun near the beginning of their voyage and later discarded, but he was mired in the final chapter; his eyes unfocused as he tried, for the third time, to read on.

_“We are still surrounded by mountains of ice, still in imminent danger of being crushed by their conflict. The cold is excessive, and many of my unfortunate comrades have already found a grave amidst this scene of desolation.”_ Outside his cabin the ice gave a particularly pained groan. He started.

Across the frozen expanse, Crozier looked up at the same sound. A series of creaks reassured him that it was merely the ship settling. He returned his gaze to the empty glass he held in his hand, turning it over and over and over until the glint off it no longer looked like the sun through frozen clouds.

The bell rang. Night came, unseen. Men throughout the ships closed their books, their anatomical notes; scraped their bowls clean, began dressing to head up for watch; turned in to their bunks, casting their shipmates uneasy looks as they went.

The ice continued its threatening symphony, and Fitzjames was not the only one to dream of a dark figure pursuing them across the frozen wastes.


End file.
